


My Fatal Flaw

by Danshique



Category: Everwood
Genre: F/M, Family Issues, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, First Kiss, First Love, Friendship, Geeks, Love, Nerdiness, Popularity, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Death in the Family, Romance, Unrequited Crush, misfits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-30 21:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17836337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danshique/pseuds/Danshique
Summary: I was reading Ephram Brown's essay on the WB website, and started writing this story. About people who don't really fit in and changing yourself, for better or worse.





	1. Opening

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and completed this 15 years ago, and decided to repost it all here!

I guess when you really look hard enough, you'll be able to see that life isn't all about success and fame. Or popularity.

But maybe I'm just saying this because I'm none of those things.

Who am I kidding? Whether or not life is about success, fame or popularity, they're all still important. I say this because it's true. I say this because I see Amy.

Amy Abbott. You don't know her? Come on, I'm sure you do. She's your typical popular girl; perfect blonde hair, perfect skin, perfect life. There's an Amy Abbott in every single one of our lives. But maybe I'm being judgemental. Maybe her life isn't perfect. But I only know what I can see.

 _Sigh_. I'm being such a sour grape. I don't hate Amy at all. I really don't. It's just that I wish he'd look at me the way that he looks at her. The way that she takes for granted.

By 'he' I mean Ephram Brown. I don't know what it was about him that had caught my attention at first. Actually, he hadn’t at all in the beginning; I’d been too work-oriented to notice such things as boys, what with my scholarship programme needing me to perform "with excellence" and all. I haven’t had much time to, you know, just relax and basically be a teenager. The thought of being stuck in tiny little Everwood and living the life of my parents makes me itch with claustrophobia. No way. After finishing up in this small town, I'm going to college in the city, which is what this whole scholarship thing is about in the first place.

Anyway, I guess what had first caught my attention about him was really his essay. Being the geek that I am, the teachers had automatically appointed me as their Teacher's Pet. Not just one. ALL of them. I hadn’t asked for it, but seeing that my social life couldn't get worse than it already was, I hadn’t protested or rebelled or anything of the sort. No, I had bigger dreams.

So, I was collecting everyone's English essays as usual when the bell rang signalling that class was over. To my dismay, my teacher Mrs Hemingway dismissed the class even though I hadn't finished collecting, leaving me to pick up the essays that they'd conveniently left on their desks. Well, perhaps that wasn't so bad because I was able to go around collecting their papers with ease, instead of feeling like a sore thumb moving around everyone's desks.

"Take your time, Hana," Mrs Hemingway had said while packing up her things, smiling, as if she knew that I'd be happier doing this during my break than actually going to the cafeteria where an empty table awaited me. Just as I arrived at Ephram's table though, a breeze came in through the window and blew his essay to the floor. I bent down to pick it up, and the heading caught my eye.

" _My Fatal Flaw, by Ephram Brown_ ".

Just that. My curiosity was piqued instantly. I knew Ephram Brown, alright. He was the New Kid. The one that no one bothered about just because he was. I guess that's the way of all schools, right? It's like this unwritten social etiquette. Everyone's formed their own cliques, built up their own identities in whatever superficial foothold they've established for themselves, and they don't feel like making themselves vulnerable by taking a potentially very Uncool kid into their group. Well, too bad for Ephram Brown, but I'd had to get by on my own for much longer. And not because I was the New Kid. Nah. I was just plain Uncool.

I don't know what possessed me to begin reading his essay but I did, right there and then, stooped over on the floor:

" _My Fatal Flaw, by Ephram Brown_

_The more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm not sure who the first person was who said that. Probably Shakespeare. Or maybe Sting. But at the moment, it's the sentence that best explains my tragic flaw: my inability to change._

_I don't think I'm alone in this. The more I get to know other people, the more I realize it's kind of everyone's flaw. Staying exactly the same for as long as possible, standing perfectly still... It feels safer somehow. And if you are suffering, at least the pain is familiar. Because if you took that leap of faith, went outside the box, did something unexpected... Who knows what other pain might be out there, waiting for you. Chances are it could be even worse._

_So you maintain the status quo. Choose the road already travelled and it doesn't seem that bad. Not as far as flaws go. You're not a drug addict. You're not killing anyone... Except maybe yourself a little._

_When we finally do change, I don't think it happens like an earthquake or an explosion, where all of a sudden we're like this different person. I think it's smaller than that. The kind of thing most people wouldn't even notice unless they looked at us really close. Which, thank God, they never do._

_But you notice it. Inside you that change feels like a world of difference. And you hope this is it. This is the person you get to be forever... that you'll never have to change again_."

I didn't get up again until I heard Mrs Hemingway call.

"You alright dear?"

"Oh...Y-yes Mrs Hemingway... I just dropped something. I've got it," I said as I picked myself up. I started thinking. What he'd said about not killing anyone but yourself. That had hit a chord somewhere. Maybe that's what I'd been doing all along, this whole “all work and no play” bit that I'd salvaged for myself. I hadn't had any friends for a long time. Well, I did have some childhood friends, but we'd all strayed apart since high school started, separated into our Cool and Uncool groups. That hadn't bothered me before. Should it?

" _And if you're suffering, at least the pain is familiar..._ "

I didn't want to think about it anymore.


	2. Auditorium

That night, and for many nights after, I couldn't get his words out of my head. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't help thinking about how long it had been since I'd received a phonecall from someone who wasn't a teacher. But I was adamant even then. It was only an essay after all. Why should it affect me so? 

So I blame lack of sleep for my situation right now. I'm all alone in the auditorium, in the dark, crying for some reason that I'm not even sure about. Damn Ephram. And he doesn't even know I exist. This morning I'd seen him making goo-goo eyes at Amy as usual. How can he not know that she's using him? Everyone knows the only reason she's trying to get close to him is because she knows his father's "The Great Doctor Brown". Can't he see that she only wants his father to save her dear boyfriend? 

I've been wrong about one thing though. Amy's life isn't perfect. I've been ignorant. How else can I explain my cluelessness about her boyfriend Colin's accident? But I guess I should have noticed how she rushes out of class like a whirlwind the moment the bell rings, signalling that school's over for the day. She's been visiting him almost religiously since he's been hospitalised, since Fourth of July. I guess I've been so busy ignoring the rest of the world that I hadn't picked up on the talk. 

But that only makes me feel worse, knowing that Amy is human, just like I am. It makes me feel like liking her or trying to get to know her better and there's no reason I should feel these things because in the end, she still has Ephram and I don't. I'm being selfish, aren't I? It's horrible. 

I don't know what exactly started my tears pouring. I think it was the combination of several things at once. First of all, I'd been called out during class. Usually when that happens, the teacher wants me to help her or him with something. But this time, it was different. Mr Peters' eyes showed disappointment.

* * *

I gulped as I waited for terrible words to escape from his lips. But instead, his expression changed to one of concern. 

"Hana, are you doing okay?" That was the last thing I'd expected for him to say. I fidgeted uncomfortably as I stood in front of him. 

"No," I mumbled. I knew what this was all about. 

"Well... You've never had any problems with your schoolwork before. If you need any help, you know you can come to me or any of your other teachers," he said kindly. I guiltily thought that they would be the LAST people I'd ever turn to for help. It wasn't as if they _could_ help me, anyway. 

Besides, it would be crazy to confess to the teachers that the reason my work had been slipping lately was because I couldn't get Ephram out of my mind. I wished that I'd never read his essay. I wished that I hadn't begun looking at him differently. I wished that I'd never started noticing the way that his brows creased whenever he was thinking really hard, or how green his eyes were, or the intense, faraway look he'd get on his face whenever he looked at Amy as she sat oblivious to him. Ephram was all of the many reasons to get distracted from schoolwork. 

"Hana? You sure there's nothing you'd like to tell me? We can talk after class if you don't feel comfortable telling me now," Mr Peters was saying. I looked up at his kind, old face wrinkled like the bark of a tree and thought how much he reminded me of my grandfather. I shook my head. 

"No, I'm fine Mr Peters. I'll pull my grades up. I've just been... tired lately". 

"Okay... Well, don't work yourself too hard either," Mr Peters advised. I nodded again and forced a smile at him just as the bell rang. Metal scraped against concrete as the class began to get up from their desks. I got back to my desk to pack up my things and joined the flow of students leaving the classroom as Mr Peters dismissed us, although we'd already begun dismissing ourselves. 

I swallowed and walked unnoticed back to the hallway. I couldn't help feeling disappointed in myself. For such a long time, I'd had a vision of how I would go through all of this. I would graduate high school with honours, win my scholarship, go to college in the city and the rest would be history. And yet... What was I doing now? Slipping in my work, daydreaming... All for someone who didn't even know I existed. He was spoiling all of my plans, everything I'd built myself up for. 

Well, screw that. I had to rip Ephram out of my system even if it was the last thing I did. Although I hoped that that would be soon, before I took my final exams. It was easier said than done. 

I let my feet direct me, not knowing where I was really going. I had a lot of tension to walk out. And what do you know... They led me right to his locker. Not that I'd know where his locker was if he hadn't been standing right there. With Amy. They were talking about something serious, and even then, idolisation shone for her in his eyes. I walked right past them, but it didn't matter because I was invisible anyway. And all of a sudden, I had this lump in my throat. It was ridiculous, but I really was beginning to cry. I began to run, as far away from the two as I could possibly get, ignoring the looks of other students. 

And in the end, I found myself standing in front of the empty auditorium doors. My eyes were blurry with tears. Wasn't that pathetic. I pushed against the doors gingerly, and surprisingly, they weren't locked.


	3. Showdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this one's a bit shorter... Getting writer's block, AAAUUGGGHH!

Alright, so I'd been there for almost half an hour, sniffling in the dark, minding my own business, when all of a sudden the sound of a piano being played echoed throughout the auditorium. It was a beautiful, haunting melody; a little sad, actually. They say that when you're sad, you listen to sad music. Well, I didn't know about that, but the tune ran deep into my soul at that moment. I stopped crying almost immediately, hugging my legs against my chest as I sat down on that auditorium floor, my back against the stage. I closed my eyes, laid back, and let the melodies wash over me.

The thought of the auditorium being haunted by piano-playing ghosts didn't even occur to me. I just needed a rest. Then, all too soon, the piece was over. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again. Now I was dying to see who had been playing. Even if I couldn't exactly come out from the shadows and thank the person, I wanted to know who he or she was, just because.

I poked my head out over the stage to take a peek. I knew that the piano was left onstage for after-school piano lessons. But as far as I knew, there weren't any lessons today or there would be a bunch of people in the auditorium. The piano was usually left there unless there was a concert of some sort coming up that required the stage.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry again when I saw the pianist. Of all people. Of course he'd be the one playing the piano.

Ephram Brown.

Just as I thought I was about to either shout out loud or spontaneously combust, Ephram started to talk. I froze. He must have seen me.

"Mom... If you really are still talking to Dad, could you please tell him to get rid of this whacked-up idea of his and move us all back to New York? ‘Cos honestly, my life's only been getting more complicated here."

Ephram was talking to himself. But before my surprise could even register, he snorted sarcastically and gave a laugh.

"And I thought Dad was crazy." I gulped. Was this my chance to say something? Would I finally talk to Ephram, the guy who had been on my mind for weeks now? But what would I be getting myself into? Ephram could never like me the way that I liked him. His heart was only set for Amy.

But perhaps... perhaps we could be friends.

This was it. I was going to say something. Just then, I heard the auditorium doors swing open, and light streamed in from the outside. I ducked out of view.

"Ephram? Are you there? Maira said she saw you heading this way," I heard a familiar female voice call out. Amy. I sighed with resignation. Wasn't it always.

"What're you doing here, Amy? Don't you have to go visit Colin now?" I heard Ephram say sarcastically.

"Ephram-" she started. "How did you get in? I didn't see you go through the doors."

"I came in from backstage. Why are you here?" he said in monotone, acting disinterested. I could almost imagine him looking down at the piano keys as he talked. I saw Amy walk up to the stage, and shrank myself back as small as I could into the shadows as she climbed up onto it.

"I… I just wanted to say I was sorry. For ignoring you these past few days. For what I did in the school bus this morning. Please listen," Amy pleaded.

"No... _I'm_ sorry alright?" I heard Ephram reply with bitterness in his voice. "I'm sorry for the kiss. I was out of line.

"You know what? Maybe we can't be friends. You know how I feel about you. And I know how you feel about me. So let's just leave it at that."

I just listened to all of this with bated breath, an unwilling audience in the darkness. Then, I heard the ruffle of a backpack being picked up, and a thump as Ephram jumped off the stage and pushed his way through the auditorium doors without turning back.

When I heard Amy sniffling, I knew that that was all I could take. I had to get out of here. And so, as silently as I could in the darkness, I made my way to the door that led backstage, and exited the same way that Ephram had come in.


	4. Ignorance is Bliss

I must be getting obsessive. But it's not like I'm doing anyone any harm. Maybe I'm just being an adoring fan of fine musical talent. _Hah._

Every day after that, I'd head for the auditorium; that is, only if it was empty. Because then I knew Ephram might go there to play at the piano secretly, or so he thought. It was like an after-school ritual. Bell rings, I'd pack up, head to the auditorium to peek in, and if it was empty, I'd go in through the backstage doors, just in case Ephram was already inside. Usually, I was the one in first, though. Sometimes, Ephram didn't even come in to play, but I didn't mind. The auditorium was like my own little Secret Hiding Place. It was ours, actually. Just that he wasn't aware that I shared it with him sometimes.

Alright, so maybe you think I'm turning a _wee_ bit crazy. But Ephram's the one who talks to himself. Yeah, he does. But I guess it's only because he thinks he's alone. Usually, he's talking to his Mom. Sometimes, even, I’d feel like he's talking to me. Then, it'd take all I have not to respond because I know he isn't, really – he doesn't even know I exist.

Today, Ephram came in earlier than I did. Amy turned up the other day, and they talked and somewhat repaired their friendship. Those times, I feel so terrible for being there, listening to them in the dark. But it's not my fault! If I had it my way, I wouldn't even _want_ to listen to their conversations. But I guess it's made me understand their relationship more, and now I have a certain respect for it that I guess I didn't have before.

Anyway, Ephram's playing a piece now. I've heard it before. I'm not terribly good at recognising pieces, but I think it's the ‘Moonlight Sonata’. My cousin played it before at a family gathering. I wonder why Ephram plays so many sad pieces. I guess it's because he only comes in here when he's feeling down. 

Wow. That's very often then.

I've created a sort-of comfortable cubby-area for myself. I'm eating the sandwich that I'd packed for myself for lunch but hadn’t eaten because I hadn't gone for lunch, as usual.

Yep, you can tell what a routine this has become for me.

Actually, the lives of Ephram and I are quite similar. Just that Ephram's Dad had decided to move their entire family from exciting, big New York City to tiny, stale Everwood. That's one thing I don't get.

But when Ephram starts talking to his Mom, I know exactly how he feels. Exactly how he misses her. I used to talk to my own Mom like that too after she died. She and Dad had lived in Everwood all their lives, and then a few years ago, Mom had died of Lymphoma, some cancer I hadn't even heard of until she'd contracted it. Ignorance is bliss, I guess. Anyway, I came across Mom's diary afterwards, and it was full of dreams of travel and adventure; things that she hadn't done. And she'd died. It was too late for her now. 

Right then, my heart had turned cold. I realised that death was unexpected. _Really_ realised. I didn't want to end up like my parents, like Mom. I was going to see the world. This scholarship was my ticket to bigger things, a bigger future. And I was sure as heck not going to blow it.

Maybe that's why I've brought some textbooks along to read?

* * *

Hana was sitting cross-legged on the dusty, wooden floor of the auditorium, a sandwich in one hand and a tiny flashlight in another. Piles of books were strewn about her, and she was using the flashlight to read one particularly thick-looking one as she chewed on her sandwich, her hair hanging past her shoulders in two thick, brown braids.

Not five feet away from where she sat, Ephram was at the piano, lost in his own world. His fingers played over the keys with such familiarity that one would believe that he could play with his eyes closed. They were, however, wide open, burning with an intensity for the music.

Even if Hana's flashlight had been brighter, he wouldn't have noticed it.

But then, something happened.


End file.
